Tepid First Step

I’ve been collecting my thoughts for this post, although I still feel like I’m mostly winging it. One hundred and thirteen days after all hell broke loose there has been movement towards reconciliation. In some ways, I feel like it’s a little too late and a little too hard to come back from these months of pain and no communication. I did have a little clarity, when I was speaking with Esperanza Wednesday night, into why this whole thing hurt me as badly as it did – I cared too much and had unrealistic expectations for our relationship. And, since I don’t do anything half-assed, I was all-in when it came to trying to establish the relationship I envisioned we both desired. I treated Esperanza as if she were my daughter or foster daughter. I treated her just as I treated Primero in regards to my expectations and my interactions. It turns out that isn’t what she wanted from me. I’m still not quite sure what it is that she wanted, but I clearly over-stepped my boundaries and when it came down to it, she lashed out as a way of telling me to back off. It hurt me because where I saw family, she didn’t and I suppose that would hurt anyone’s feelings.

 

Let me back up and describe how this all came about. Wednesday evening we went to the Quick Care for a doctor to take a look at my toe since it wasn’t feeling any better and seemed to be getting infected. I had forgotten I made an appointment for a financial planner I had met at the job fair earlier this month and so rushed home from the Urgent Care to meet with him. As we were wrapping up our conversation, Primero came into the kitchen and said Esperanza needed me to sign paperwork from her school and she couldn’t get a ride to our place. The paperwork needed to be handed in the following day. I had received an email earlier in the day regarding this paperwork, so I knew I needed to sign it, but I didn’t realize it needed to be done so quickly. I was irritated because it was already almost 9 pm and well past the bedtime for the little ones. After the financial planner left Primero told me Esperanza had hoped to talk to me about things when we went to her house to sign the paperwork. Sigh. I was so tired and it was late and the kids needed to get to bed. But, I saw no way out of it and so agreed to have the conversation. We drove to Esperanza’s house and I signed what I needed to and then Primero took the kids and Esperanza’s boyfriend upstairs so we could talk alone.

 

To say it was awkward is a gross understatement. We sat side by side staring at our hands quietly for what seemed like hours. Esperanza apologized and said she didn’t really know what to say. I confessed that I was letting her guide this because, as I stated above, I had over-stepped boundaries and didn’t want to do that again. I told her I know I am nothing to her and I won’t push myself into a situation where I am not wanted. She said she didn’t want things to be awkward between us when we see one another at family functions and whatnot. I told her I know how to be cordial and I would never start something at a family function. She seemed to be asking how to fix things back to where they were before, but the reality is we can never get back to that. I was taking on a role I should not have been taking on and she was playing along until it got to be too much. I’m not sure really what sort of relationship we will have and suggested she be the one to define it, since I got it wrong before. Maybe she was just looking for a good friend to help her out and I just didn’t get that message, I’m not sure.

 

The good news is that instead of standing stagnant, we have made a move. It was a tepid move, something akin to picking up the tools needed to repair the relationship, but any movement is better than stagnation. Esperanza invited me and Primero to her graduation next week and I’m glad to be going. We shall just have to move slow and see where things go from here.

The Toenail Needs to Go

So much to write! So little time to write it! Oh, and I need to see a podiatrist to have my toenail ripped off. Apparently, I should have seen a doctor right after the injury to get a hole drilled in my toenail to allow the blood to escape and prevent the coagulation of the blood under the nail, which is causing the pressure, pain and potential infection I have currently. At least that’s what the grumpy Urgent Care doctor told me. As one can imagine, I am not looking forward to having the podiatrist rip my toenail off my big toe. The toe is sore enough just existing, let alone getting a needle jammed into it and then having the nail torn from it. I shudder just thinking of it! I suppose it can’t be any worse than Love Bug having his tooth pulled, so I’ll have to man up and get on with it. I have more things swirling in my brain but at the moment I’m too foggy brained to make it all cohesive, so I’ll just end it with a teaser – Primero and I have been invited to attend Esperanza’s graduation next week…..

Just Another Manic Monday

Yesterday was more than just a manic Monday. It was a totally stressful hot mess of a day that just couldn’t end fast enough for my taste. The day started out rather mundane, but a mid-morning call from the daycare director sent everything off kilter and the day tanked from there. When I answered my phone a little after 11 am and the daycare director started speaking, I knew it couldn’t be good news. I thought it was something with Chica Marie, but she was at school, so it couldn’t be her acting out. No, it was Love Bug. He wasn’t acting out, he was hurt. Apparently he had fallen on a chair and hit his mouth. The director wanted me to come look at his tooth because he wasn’t sure if it was as it should be. Oh good Lord! So, I leave work and drive the short drive to the daycare, fully expecting to declare Love Bug fine and recommend Tylenol and ice to sooth him. As I arrived at the daycare I saw the van for Chica Marie’s school sitting in the parking lot. I got her off the bus and walked her into the daycare, handed her off to her teacher and went to Love Bug’s room. He was being cradled in a new worker’s lap and other than some blood smeared across his face, he looked fine. I scooped him up and laid him on the changing table to check out his mouth. His gum was still bleeding but it was obvious his tooth was not as it should be. His teacher explained he had hit his mouth on a chair during a temper tantrum. The impact shove his remaining front tooth (because the other one he broke – see the full story here) up into his gum. My stomach churns just remembering it.

 

I left Love Bug with his teacher to call the dentist from my cell phone in the car. The dentist would see us at 12:30, which gave me time to go back to work with Love Bug and cancel my afternoon appointments. On my way back to work I called our CHOR case worker and the day supervisor leaving them messages explaining Love Bug was going to see the dentist after this accident and I suspected his tooth would need to be pulled and soon. This was the determination of the dentist, he sent us to an oral surgeon 30 minutes away because the tooth needed to come out; Love Bug was in pain and wouldn’t be able to eat until the tooth was removed. The poor little guy fell asleep in the car on the ride to the oral surgeon and it seemed like the pain finally hit him when I woke him up to carry him inside. From the moment we got into the office until the tooth was out, he howled. It was the trifecta of toddler don’t’ s: he was hungry because of course this happened right before lunch and no one wanted him eating so whatever surgery could be performed; he was tired because after lunch it is nap time and the 15-20 minute catnap in the car only reminded him how tired he was; and he was in pain, I’m guessing a great deal of pain, I mean can you imagine your tooth being shoved up into your gum to the point it’s almost coming out the top? Yeah, I’m sure that stung a little…..

 

We waited for what felt like hours. Thanks to my incessant phone calling, the CHOR case worker had already been queued up and ready to contact the county case worker. I texted a picture of the order the dentist gave me to the county case worker so she could get a court order. Fortunately, the county case worker found bio mom and had her call to give verbal consent. Bio mom asked to be informed of exactly what they would be doing to Love Bug, so after the oral surgeon proclaimed the tooth would be removed in the office, the nurses had to call and relay that to bio mom before the procedure could proceed. I spent that time trapped in a room with a very miserable Love Bug. He wanted me to hold him so he could sleep, but he was also hungry and kept pointing at my purse in hopes that lunch would pop out for him. And, since the pain wouldn’t let him sleep and my purse was not procuring food, he howled. I tried to stay calm, as I stood and swayed and tried desperately to make him comfortable.  I felt soggy because he spilled water on himself when he was with me at work plus he was drooling profusely, bleeding, sweating, and crying. I literally had his blood, sweat, and tears smeared all over my upper body. Add snot and drool to the list. My arms ached from holding him and patting his back. I had injured my toe over the weekend (my toe nail on my big toe is mostly torn off of my toe, it is swollen and painful and I will eventually lose the toe nail) and it was throbbing from all the swaying. Finally, it was time to go to another room for Love Bug to have the tooth out. The nurses had me sit him in the chair on two pillows as they quickly strapped the nitrous mask to his face. Love Bug fought it with all his might. His wailing dropped to a low moan and soon the doctor was numbing his gums and pulling the tooth out in one quick jerk. The nurse shoved a wad of gauze in his mouth and clamped the mask back on his face. It took three nurses and the doctor to get his tooth out. I was rather surprised they let me stay in the room, but as soon as they gave him enough oxygen to reverse the effects of the nitrous, they handed me a tired, bloody Love Bug. A kindly young nurse put a plastic bib over my shoulder to catch the blood, since Love Bug would not leave the gauze in his mouth. She then lead us to the packed waiting room for everyone to stare at the sight we made; the bib was spotted with bright red blood and Love Bug had smeared his face with his spit and blood. I tried to dab it away, but the newly made hole in his mouth just kept oozing more blood than I could dab away. We reached the van where I just opened the door to prop my good foot up and settle Love Bug on my knee. We stood there for some time, as the blood finally slowed and Love Bug was calm enough for me to strap him in his car seat for our 30 minute drive home. I was so tired, but our day wasn’t done yet!

 

We weren’t home long before Primero came home from school. He was surprised to see us home and wanted to know why I brought Love Bug home but not Chica Marie. I told him the story. We fed Love Bug some yogurt and then packed up the animals because I had made an appointment for the dog and two cats to see the vet about 6 weeks ago and wasn’t going to cancel the visit. We picked up Chica Marie at daycare and I took Love Bug in to see his teacher and tell her what happened. We then stopped at Sheetz gas station for dinner. I had wanted to go to the diner, but Primero didn’t want to leave the animals in the car. I should have just gone with my instincts. It was nearly impossible to corral Love Bug, since he didn’t want to be held anymore, having met his quota earlier in the afternoon. Chica Marie wasn’t listening, as usual. We ordered food and I thought getting a mac and cheese with meatballs would be good for the kids to eat. It turns out they put some sort of spicy sauce on top and ruined the whole thing and neither kid would be more than a few bites. Since we were eating more picnic style there weren’t any high chairs and Love Bug would not stay in a seat. I sent Primero to the car for his stroller and Primero found grapes we had forgotten in the car. That’s what the kids had for dinner. And a few chips. While we had been waiting for our food I felt like I was having a tampon malfunction, so once we were done eating I went to the bathroom to learn I bled through the tampon and needed to stick a pad on my ruined underwear. While we were picking out our drinks Love Bug stomped on my injured toe which was throbbing and we still had a 30 minute drive to the vet’s office. I was so tired and so done, but the day just wouldn’t give up.

 

My sweet Canela has been with me since she is 5 weeks old. A volunteer friend in a neighboring town had told me she knew of a litter of puppies and knew I wanted a dog. I told her I would come stay with her on my way home and look at the puppies. When I picked a puppy out of the litter I had initially chosen her sister, who was the only other puppy who was the same rusty redish brown as her, only with no white markings. Canela has a white T on her chest and white spots on three of her feet. I picked her out and then went home for a visit. When I arrived back at my friends village she told me the puppy I had picked out had been injured. According to the owner, a donkey had kicked or stepped on the puppy and so she offered me the sister who looked like her, since my puppy would most likely die. I was torn, but I knew I couldn’t afford to pay for costly vet bills and so I took the healthy sister. I named her Canela, which means Cinnamon in Spanish. And for 11 years she has been my constant companion. I paid a pretty penny to bring her home with me from Nicaragua, but it was worth every cent. She has loved me and been by my side through so many life events it is impossible to imagine her not being around. She is my Nica Princess, my Sweet Girl and I want her to live forever. Sadly, it just doesn’t work that way. Canela has a tumor on her front left leg. It just ballooned out of nowhere these past 6 weeks. The vet said the tumor is inoperable because it is too attached and would require taking her whole leg. She prescribed steroids and antibiotics to see if they can shrink the tumor. If they don’t work, the tumor will eventually kill my Canela. I truly hope and pray the medication works and her tumor is diminished. Canela is in excellent health besides this tumor, she is still full of vigor and spunk. She still runs around at the farm and in the back yard and she still loves going for walks. Canela has had a good life and she has been a truly wonderful companion. I’m just not ready for our journey to end, though I doubt I will ever be ready.

Procrastination and Poor Decisions

I’m tired of my period. Every month (or so) it rolls around and I think, “I really should call my gyno to talk about my period” and every month I don’t make that call. I haven’t gone to the gyno in over 2 years. I guess after all the infertility stuff I just sort of gave up caring. Nothing interesting is going on down there, so might as well ignore it. But, my periods are painful and heavy and if there were something to help with that I would like to be advised of its attributes. So why don’t I just bite the bullet and make that appointment? You mean, other than because I’m a dummy? Obviously, there’s the whole infertility implication. And that does sound stupid outside of my head, but I suppose I justify it by feeling the need to not be on display again as I was during our years of trying. I’m trying to regain some sense of propriety, in a very misguided way. Being divorced and single, I don’t see much action these days. Not to claim I’ve been totally celibate, but I’m not sleeping around and therefore, also don’t feel a need to have my cervix scraped once a year. Oh, but it isn’t once a year anymore! I was told the last time I was in to see my doctor she would only be performing a pap smear once every two years, since there was some study claiming yearly pap smears aren’t necessary. There’s also an added complication of my gyno and my mom being friends and former co-workers. I don’t know that they’re meeting up so often, but they used to get together in a group of previous co-workers once every other month. My gyno and I are Facebook friends and I’m pretty sure that makes me weird. Not that she contacts me about my girly stuff through Facebook and she’s a total professional, so I don’t worry that she shares things about me with my mom. The moral of the story is, I hate my period and would like to discuss my options with my health care provider so I need to get over myself and make an appointment.

 

Tuesday afternoon Primero informed me Hermano wanted to visit and was walking to our place from his foster family’s place. I was instantly worried because that walk is usually about a 30 minute drive. I wanted to try to find him but we had no clue the route he would have taken and his phone wasn’t working. So, we ran a quick errand and suddenly Primero’s phone was ringing. It was Esperanza’s roommate’s number but Hermano was calling. He wanted us to pick him up. We took him to dinner and he filled us in on things. The biggest bombshell was that he and his pregnant girlfriend had broken up and the girlfriend wouldn’t talk to him. Primero got upset at this revelation, demanding they get back together. I think it was a two-pronged prick to Primero – one, he had just broken up with his girlfriend the day before, so there was sadness over that, and two, he didn’t want his nephew to face the same fatherless childhood that he lived through. Hermano seemed rather blasé over the whole break up. But, he also seemed proud to be expecting a son, so hopefully they will work out some amicable agreement to parent their child. The other sad news Hermano shared was regarding his education. Because he has moved around so much, he won’t be able to graduate this year and in fact, he would be put in 9^th grade based on the few credits he has towards graduation. According to what he said, it doesn’t seem like the school is willing to help him. And, I’m not sure what CYS is doing to help him either. He seemed to indicate that he would be moving out of his foster home when he turns 18, which is next week. I am watching a sad foster care statistic unfold before my very eyes – Hermano is aging out with little support, no high school diploma, a minimum wage job and a child on the way. It’s just down right heart breaking, especially to see it written so starkly in black and white. As we drove Hermano home he revealed his foster parents didn’t know he had walked half way across the county, they thought he was at the local park. He insisted they don’t care about him anymore and he doesn’t care either. He invited us to the baby shower that will be happening some time the beginning of July and stuffed the baby clothing I gave him into his back pack and lumbered away into the fleeing sunlight. Primero was uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the evening, although he insisted nothing was wrong.

 

Last night Primero informed me that Esperanza’s phone is broken. For Christmas, I bought her a cell phone and added a line to my account. Prior to that, her cell phone only worked with wifi connection and she didn’t have an actual phone she could use to make or receive calls. Obviously, I had no idea the fall out that would occur just a few months after Christmas, my crystal ball was a bit cloudy and I foolishly thought things would carry on as they had been previously. I was wrong, very wrong. Things went sideways and I’ve been stuck paying for a phone for someone who thinks I should eat shit and die. When Primero delivered the pronouncement of the damaged phone, all I could do was shrug and mutter how it didn’t really turn out as I had expected and I regretted my decision to rope myself into this two year contract. Primero got defensive and I got busy with giving the little ones their bath. I know nothing can happen to my account unless I authorize it and I’m fine with authorizing Esperanza to purchase her own phone or whatever else might come along. But, that would require a conversation with me and not having Primero in the middle, as he always has been. Primero cannot fix the phone nor can he authorize any changes to the account. I have a feeling I’m about to be stuck with an extra line on my account and forced to pay some exorbitant disconnect fee and I wish I hadn’t been so trusting of things staying the way they were.   

Respite Rage

I am feeling very frustrated with CHOR these days. For whatever reason, I feel like every time I ask for respite lately, it just doesn’t work out. I had requested the kids be in respite Saturday morning through Sunday afternoon to attend my sister’s bridal shower Saturday evening and to spend some alone time with Primero on Sunday. I was told I didn’t give enough notice and so no one was available. With previous case workers, when I gave advanced notice they would forget to find respite and well, you can imagine how having had so many case workers in a short period of time it can be frustrating keeping up with how each one operates. My utter frustration with respite has reached a boiling point at the moment. I don’t feel like I ask for respite all that often, especially considering I am a single parent and that Chica Marie’s behaviors could cause Mother Theresa to need a shot of something strong every now and again. I was especially perturbed to be denied respite for a special occasion like my sister’s bridal shower. I think it is just down right crappy. I did give a heads up with the wedding dates when I will need respite, but I don’t really trust CHOR or our case worker to find a place for the kids over July 4^th weekend, so I will try to find someone on my own. The additional frustration to this past weekend was that I had a back-up plan approved, until 12 noon on Friday when the case worker called me. Initially she was fine with Primero watching the kids, with the prudent parenting rules I’m allowed to choose whomever I trust to watch the kids. Great! I trust Primero, he’s good with the kids, he knows our routine and it would all be fine and dandy. But no. CHOR did not trust him to be with the kids for such a long period of time because he ran away a few months ago. Jerks! Total jerks! Not only were they basically saying they didn’t trust my judgment to leave the kids with Primero, but they also believed Primero would what, run away and leave the kids there alone? Run away with the kids? What in the world?! I was so angry I was shaking. Fortunately, Mr. J and his girlfriend came to our rescue and agreed to stay with Primero and the kids and I was able to go to the bridal shower, but I’ve about had it. I’m done asking for respite. And I am done sharing anything with the CHOR case workers. The home visits are going to be very dull because if I’m not going to be supported why should I have to sit and give every detail of our lives to an uncaring entity? I’ll take care of everything, including finding my own respite when I need a break. So don’t come asking me for a thing.

Untamed Tresses

Yesterday afternoon when I walked into the daycare my eyes searched the crowd of kids to find Chica Marie. I noticed the pink stripped shirt she was wearing until my eyes could convey to my brain what they were seeing above her shirt. Instead of the intricate twists I had put in her hair the night before, her unbrushed, disheveled curls were standing on end all over her head. Her perfectly coifed hair had become a tangled lions mane, frizzing into a knotted afro. “What happened to your hair?!” I cried, thinking only some unfortunate misfortune could have caused the daycare to rip her hair out. What was it? Paint? Glue? Baby powder? Syrup? What could have caused this atrocious calamity? “She was complaining it was too tight,” the teacher explained. Um, what? “Yeah, she was crying and telling her morning teacher it was too tight, so she took it out.” I counted to three, took a deep breath and explained how displeased I was to hear someone took it upon themselves to undo my hours’ worth of work the night before.

 

It is not ok for someone to touch her hair and take it out of the style I put it in. It is even worse that her hair was just left free to be a total mess for me to have to comb out and redo. If the child was complaining, first take into consideration that this child is attention seeking in its illest form and if you pity her or baby her she will eat that up with a big ole spoon. Second, think how you might like to pick your child up at daycare and see her hair is totally destroyed. This is not your child. You did not spend an hour on her hair last night. DO NOT TOUCH! If she is crying it is too tight, loosen it a bit and tell me about it – DO NOT TAKE IT OUT! I made Chica Marie practice telling people to not touch her hair. And I asked her if her hair felt too tight this morning, since I put it right back into the same style I had it in previously. She said it was ok. I made sure every teacher knew I did not like what had occurred and asked for it to not happen ever again. Chica Marie has taken her own hair out, or portions of it but she has been good lately. Her hair is growing and looking healthy because it is being protected in the styles I put it in. She is not yet mature enough to have her hair free unless it is for a special occasion and a short period of time. That wild curly look might be cute but it wreaks havoc on her hair, causing it to dry out and break, not to mention it is painful when I have to comb those knots out! I certainly hope this doesn’t happen again because I was none too pleased about the whole situation.

Expectant Father

It feels like not that long ago I was complaining about having lunch with a pregnant co-worker (here). She never came back to work after having the baby because while she was out on maternity leave her husband’s job got reassigned and they moved away. She did bring the baby in, but she works in another department and I only saw him when walking past their office. The director of that same program was briefly pregnant, but suffered a miscarriage just before her second trimester. Now, there is a new male employee who is expecting his first child and this is all that is discussed at lunch. He had mentioned they were going to start trying to have a family at the beginning of the year and lo and behold, she is now almost through her first trimester. And so our lunchtime topics range from her morning sickness, her weight gain, baby names, and today, how large her breasts have grown. Kill me, kill me now. Last Friday, after another round of baby talk, he wished me a “sort of” mother’s day, you know, for my dogs and cats. Um, what? Did you forget that I am a full-fledged card-carrying mother now? A co-worker reminded him of the kids and he said, “Oh yeah. Right,” like he didn’t believe I qualified. I think I need to find a new place to take lunch. I don’t think I can stand months more of this blather and insensitivity.